The Devil Walks in Mattingly (11 page)

“I will.”

Joey was still talking when I closed the phone. My heart felt like an anvil in my chest. I felt the world slip away. There was a killer on the other side of that steel door, and it was my job to bring him out. Mine, no one else’s. That was a far cry from taking the Widow Cash to market every Monday morning and waving to parade-goers.

I said I’d been afraid of Phillip since the day he died. That’s true in a way. Closer would be saying I’d been afraid of everything since that evening in the Hollow twenty years before. Terrified, not only at the thought of what I did to Phillip coming out, but that the truth of the man I was would come out with it. The only thing worse than sinning is living with it after, and in that regard you could say Phillip McBride had taken even more from me than I ever took from him.

Timmy stood watching me. His finger rested just over the trigger guard and his eyes held steady, waiting for me to do my job. A slow realization that I could not crept over me like rising water. In that moment I longed for my father. I hefted
Bessie, turned her head so the hammer pole faced the door, then banged three times.

“This here’s Sheriff Jake Barnett. I’m gonna open up this door now. I don’t want no trouble. You hear me?”

Silence.

Bessie shook in front of me. I slipped the pin from the handle and pulled hard on the door. The room inside was still but for the bobbing head in the back, behind a wall of frozen chicken containers. One of the men who’d beaten Timmy sat on the cold concrete floor, head rocking back and forth, whimpering into an arm so cold it had turned blue. Blood crusted into a serrated line from his right eye to his jaw. His shirt was torn at the chest.

I forced my feet inside. Cold air blew down from the vents above, pushing my hat down over my eyes. Gooseflesh sprouted on my arms. I rushed ahead, propelled more by adrenaline than purpose, and grabbed the man by his hair. He let out a cry that was all fear and no threat as I jerked him to his feet and spun him against the wall. I pinned him there with Bessie.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

No answer.

“Where’s the other guy?”

“He gone,” was all he said.

I kept Bessie’s blade to the back of his neck and searched his pockets. There were no weapons or identification, only fifteen dollars in cash.

“Where’d he go?” I asked.

“Don’t matter. He gonna kill me. Said so. You won’t even finish readin’ me m’rights.”

His rights. I shook my head, not having even thought of that. I holstered Bessie and said, “You are under arrest for . . . robbin’, attempted robbin’, almost killing Andy Sommerville,
and killing Eric—” It occurred to me that I didn’t even know Eric’s last name. I left it at that. “You have the right to remain silent. If you don’t be silent . . .”

I closed my eyes and cursed as the cold air blew down on us. The man turned his head as much as he could. The look on his face was a mix of amusement and shock.

“What kinda dumb hick cop are you?” he asked.

I barely heard him. I was still trying to think of the last half of the Miranda warning, something about getting a lawyer or a judge. I didn’t know because I’d never had to speak it. I spun him around and led him out through the store.

Timmy raised the shotgun as we approached.

“Never mind that,” I said. “Put that scatter-gun away, Timmy. Just get the door.”

Timmy did. I led the man to the Blazer and put him in the back, then found an old pair of handcuffs at the bottom of the glove box beneath three of Zach’s Matchbox cars, two tubes of Kate’s lipstick, and a stack of Johnny Cash CDs. One of the man’s hands went above the roll bar in the back, the other below it. I buckled the seat belt last. It wasn’t the best way to secure a prisoner, but it was the only way I could figure.

I turned to Timmy and said, “I’m gonna drive you over to Doc March’s. No objections.”

He cast a wary eye to the backseat as I pulled the phone from my pocket to dial the office.

“Go on,” I said. “All the fight’s out of’m, Timmy.”

The line rang in my ear as Timmy climbed into the passenger seat.

Kate answered and said, “Jake?”

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s me.”

“Is Timmy okay?”

“Will be. Just a few bumps. I’d let you talk to him, but I
don’t think he’s up for it right now. I’m dropping him at Doc’s. Andy’s at the hospital. He’s been burned.”

Kate choked back tears. “What
happened
?”

“Two drunks looking for a quick dollar, near’s I can tell. I got one, but the other one’s in the wind. I need you to clean out the cell. Got a plate for you to run too. Can you do that?”

“I think so, yes.”

“You’ll have to call Alan Martin too, tell him to get people down here. And I need some crime scene people. To the BP first, then here.”

“Alan, okay. What’s the plate?”

I read the numbers off the truck along the curb.

“Anything else?” she asked.

There was. And while I took no pleasure in saying it, I knew it should only come from me. “You know those two boys been coming by the BP in the mornings? Brothers? Older one’s Eric.”

“Yes.”

“Know their last names or where they’re from?”

“Not offhand,” Kate said. “Andy’s caring for them. Why?”

“Eric’s gone, Kate.”

The silence that followed was a hurt that plumbed the deep places in Kate’s heart where neither tears nor words could follow.

“I’m so sorry, Kate.”

“I’ll make some calls,” she said.

I hung up and drove. No one spoke. I glanced into the rearview mirror. The man in back had his hands manacled to the roll bar, freezing him into a gesture of surrender. He looked at me and smiled. I saw a malevolence in that grin, a warning that echoed not in anything he said but in what Phillip had told me the night before.

You’re a dead man and he’s coming and you’ll remember true. Because I want an end.

I took my eyes away from the mirror and stared ahead. The nightmares alone were bad enough. But now I felt that Phillip had grown too large for my dreams, and I could not escape the feeling that he was watching me even then.

I was right.

5

Kate dried her eyes for what she promised herself was the last time and pulled the warm pages from the printer tray. The low ink rendered the image atop the DMV report in clumps of gray and black dots, but the name and address were clear enough. Charles Earl Givens. That was who had done this.

She didn’t need a clear picture to know he was a monster. Kate had seen enough of them over the years. They stalked the powerless and hid themselves well, never appearing as one would expect—with a goat’s head or a spiked tail maybe, or razored teeth smiling behind bulging yellow eyes. No, the real monsters were disguised in flesh and bone—the Mr. Charles Earl Givenses of the world. They were the fathers who abused and the mothers who neglected. They were criminals who beat other people’s brothers and burned kind old men and murdered innocent boys.

Bullies. That’s what those monsters were, bullies all. Kate knew this and knew it well.

She stared at the smudged outline of that wide, unsmiling face, barely aware of the phone trilling on her desk. Likely someone else wanting to know what Jake was doing out with his parade light flashing. Kate knew it wouldn’t be long before
the fence post telegraph of nosy old women and nosier old men made its way to the hungry ears of Trevor Morgan, even to Mayor Wallis himself. Then again, she thought maybe that call was from Jake. Maybe he had more news of Timmy or Andy. Maybe he’d captured the man who had escaped. She lifted the receiver in mid-ring as Charles Earl’s faint eyes mocked.

“Jake?” she asked.

“Katelyn?”

The pages fell from Kate’s hand, fluttering in the air before fanning out like a blooming flower. Charles Earl’s monster likeness landed facedown atop her open notebook. Kate swiped it away, believing the two touching one another a sacrilege, like spitting on a Bible.

“Katelyn?” she heard again, and the deep growl behind it.

“What are you doing calling here, Justus?”

“I call when the Spirit lays the need on me.” The voice was the sort that straightened backs and buckled knees, with an inflection that always sounded just a hair away from rage. “What you doing at th’office, Katelyn?”

“Justus, I can’t talk right now. Jake’s coming in.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. Where are you calling from? And who gave you a phone and Jake’s number?”

“Never you mind that,” Justus said. “I still got friends, Katelyn, even if I can’t count you an’ Jake among’m. Tried callin’ his pocket phone, but he won’t answer. Figured I’d just call there and leave a message.”

“A message saying what?”

“Wonderin’ if Jake’s gonna arrest me.”

Kate shook her head and sighed. They came in spurts, Justus’s calls. There had been years of silence after he’d shot the
bank men and fled Mattingly—just enough time to let everyone think the whole mess was over. The phone calls had started only in the past year and followed no schedule. Sometimes Justus would call once a week, sometimes twice, and then he’d go silent again for a month. Until that night, those calls were restricted only to the office. Zach wasn’t allowed to answer the phone during those times, which made him answering Justus’s call that morning nothing more than a cruel stroke of fate. Kate wondered if she still would have gone to Timmy’s chasing a name had she known that would happen. She knew the answer was yes. She would have gone for the same reason the Spirit led Justus to pick up his phone—because God had a way of shining His light at your back, casting yesterday as shadows that fell on today. The only difference was that for Kate, those shadows fell constant.

“Jake’s not going to arrest you tonight,” she said. “I doubt he’ll arrest you tomorrow either. I have to go, Justus.”

“Not afore you tell me what’s that flutter in your voice.”

A part of her wanted to say, “Nothing.” A bigger part (one Kate would never share with anyone, and her husband especially) wanted to tell Justus everything. His voice intimidated Kate as much as it always had, but in a way it also gave her a kind of strength. It was good to know Justus was somewhere up in Crawford’s Gap rather than in a jail cell, even if he did shoot those men and run from the consequences. Especially since there was only one prisoner coming in instead of two.

“A boy was murdered tonight,” she said. “Over at the BP. Andy’s in the hospital. They went to Timmy’s next. He’s banged up but okay.”

Kate swore she could feel heat coming over the line—a bent but righteous rage.

“What happened?” Justus asked.

“I don’t know. It was two men. Jake’s bringing one of them in.”

“
One
of them?” he boomed, and Kate suddenly felt like a little girl. “You mean one’s a-loose?”

She was about to say yes when Jake came through the door. He held a bulging dish towel that Kate barely noticed in one hand. The other hand held Charles Givens’s elbow.

“I have to go,” she said.

“Katelyn?
Kate
—”

She hung up. Jake guided Charlie to the sofa and sat him there, dared him to move. Kate didn’t think the monster would. It looked like all the will had gone out of him, likely spilt on the floors of Mattingly’s two gas stations.

Jake crossed the room to her desk. His eyes were red and glassy, like he was caught in one of his dreams and couldn’t find the way out.

He asked, “Where’s Peter?”

“Sent him home. I wanted him to be there for Zach. Crime scene folks are on the way, and so is Alan. He’ll take that thing on the sofa when they’re done. How’s Timmy?”

“Doc’s got him,” Jake said. “Says he’ll be fine. You okay?”

“No, Jake, I am not okay,” Kate said. She looked at the sofa. “Any sign of the other guy?”

He shook his head. “Most likely he’s long gone.”

“How could someone do such a thing? Not just hurt people, but leave them there to die?”

Jake said, “I don’t know,” but the way he cut his eyes to the floor made Kate wonder if that was true. The night had left her so fragile that for a moment she believed that look wasn’t a simple glance away, it was an accusation—
You
should
know all about hurting people, Kate. Why don’t
you
tell
me
how someone
could do that?
“I need to get him fingerprinted. Can you fix him up?”

Kate stood there, hoping he’d meant something else. “What’d you say?”

“Can you get him, you know . . . clean?” he asked. “Can you clean him up?”

Kate’s eyes grew wide and hot. She pushed her husband away. It was a hard ramming that sank her hands deep into his withering chest.

“You want me to clean him
up
?” she asked. “After what that man
did
?” Kate looked at the back of Charlie’s head, and in a voice meant for him to hear, she said, “There’s a special place in hell for someone like that, Jake.”

She thrust her hands into him again, venting her rage against Charlie, against poor Eric and poor Andy and poor Timmy, against the asinine thing Jake had asked her to do. Her fists flew like pistons against his chest. Her shoulders caught fire and her lungs ran out of air, and Jake allowed that pounding, did not even move to protect himself. Kate stopped only when a part of her understood she was trying to punish him and he was wanting to be punished. Kate broke her promise and cried again. She fell into Jake’s arms. He held her tight.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I should’ve thought of that. I’m so sorry, Kate. He’s just scared.”

Jake ran a hand down the back of Kate’s hair and released her. However justified her outburst had been, Kate felt a pang of remorse watching Jake walk back to the sofa. He gathered up the small bundle he’d brought in and led Charles Givens to his office. Kate watched through the glass window as Jake brushed aside the plastic-wrapped uniform hanging from the bookcase behind his desk. He placed the wrapped dish towel
on the shelf there and brought out a small first-aid kit, pausing to glance at the pills Doc March had left on his desk. The sight of her husband tending to Charlie’s wounds sickened Kate. Guilt sickened her more.